


the breakfast club

by darlenedytee



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Reddie, Stenbrough, basically if the losers were instead the breakfast club, i love this idea so much ngl, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-21 16:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlenedytee/pseuds/darlenedytee
Summary: The athlete, the brain, the criminal, the princess and the basket case break through the social barriers of high school during Saturday detention.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Beverly Marsh
Comments: 8
Kudos: 191





	the breakfast club

**Author's Note:**

> ohmygod this fic has taken me a lifetime and i am so proud to say its finally done.
> 
> I do have some things to address so please read before continuing.
> 
> ben and mike are not in this story and i hope you all don't take this as me not appreciating them. i love those two with my whole heart. but the breakfast club is a group of five people and it would have been hard to add two more characters into the story.
> 
> second, this is inspired by the film. so whilst some things are the same or similar, some are not.
> 
> ~warning for underage use of marijuana, and swearing.~
> 
> i think thats it! i hope you enjoy!
> 
> (also all the nice comments you guys have been leaving on my work means the world thank you thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart.)
> 
> _______________
> 
> John Bender: Richie
> 
> Claire Standish: Eddie
> 
> Brian Johnson: Stan
> 
> Andrew Clark: Bill
> 
> Allison Reynolds: Bev  
________________
> 
> (ps. I didn't change any of the characters to match their movie ones. i wanted to keep them genuine. i just worked around what i already cannoned them being like)

_“And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through.” - David Bowie _

Ah, the joys of Saturday morning detention.

One would think that he’d be used to it by now. But alas, even after all these years, the 7:00am buzz of his alarm still manages to give him a fucking headache without fail every time.

He’s not all that sure why his principal bothers making him go at this point. He’d be a fool not to realizethat all this shit is one big joke to Richie. But it’s whatever. It’s more a punishment for the administrators who have to waste their weekend away watching him anyway. And if he was at home it’s not like he’d be doing much of anything anyway. When he’s not in detention the regime is to either get high or sleep the day away. He supposes his teachers may unbeknownst of themselves actually be doing him some good.

He walks to school as always, because theres no way his mother is sober enough to drive at this hour. And frankly he’d walk over hot coals before ever bringing up the idea with his father. It’s okay though, the walk is actually quite nice at times. He plays his music and hums along most weekends, waltzing to the inevitable nothingness of his day to come. The autumn air is chilly though, and he thanks himself countless times for draping a denim jacket atop his grey knit sweater.

He’s nearing the end of a cigarette as he makes it to the big maroon doors._ The true entrance to hell_, he muses.

Richie makes the conscious effort of putting his cigarette out in the same spot he does every morning. A few more weeks and he’ll have burned straight through the door. The thought puts a smile on his face. It’s truly the little things that matter. His principal will go ballistic when he sees it.

He trudges along the hallway with his schoolbag slung over his right shoulder. Usually, he spends detention with Gretta Keene, who's always up to no good. Some days there are other kids. Gretta is his favourite though. She’s gritty, and laughs at the jokes everyone else in his general vicinity seems to detest. She’s a bit of a bitch, sure. But for eight hours every Saturday he’ll take bitch over boredom.

Because holy fuck is detention boring. Possibly more boring then his history class with Miss Burke, who insists on watching hour long documentaries on every historical event they cover. The war of 1812? documentary time. The American civil war? documentary time. Revolutionary war? documentary time.Each one made the option of slamming his head hard enough to lose consciousness on his desk ever so tempting.

Detention, is always in the library. Why? he’s not sure. But the room is big, and theres plenty of things to do if you're creative enough.

He knows he’s at least fifteen minutes past arrival time as he drags his feet in a haze on the faded tiles. He’s been late almost every Saturday morning, so he’s pretty sure its just expected at this point.

The library door is already open as he walks up to it, and he quirks a brow at the scene before him as he observes the usually empty desks.

There are three other people sitting in those desks. This, has never happened before.

The first one Richie notices is Beverley Marsh. They don’t talk, but she’d once asked him for a smoke and he’d given her one without hesitation, because he's _just that nice_. The two hadn't even lit up together, she’d just thanked him and ran off. But it was probably better that way. Beverley didn’t have the most sound of reputations. And sure, Richie couldn’t be sure if they were true or not, but he’d never cared enough to investigate. So he supposes rumours shall stay rumours.

She sits in the right back corner of the room, hood over her head, feet propped up on her desk. She’s kind of cool, Richie decides. She’s using a penny to engrave something on the top of her desk, and he’s tempted to ask her what she's drawing.

The next person Richie directs his attention to is Bill Denbrough. And the only reason Richie knows who he is is because everyone knows Bill Denbrough, _everyone_. He’s not God or something, but people sure do act like he is. He’s a baseball player, and a pretty fucking good one at that. He’s got a boyish look to him, iconic letterman jacket thrown over his shoulders_. _It’s strange to see Bill in detention, because the kid is honestly a parents wonder. A true frat boy.

Two seats to the left of Bill, is the cause of Richie Tozier’s migraines in the cafeteria, Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie isn’t the worst, Richie presumes. They’ve never spoken before exactly. But Eddie is like the queen bee that all the fucking worker bees at high school look up to. He’s clean cut, and remarkably pretty. But he hangs out with snobs that have sticks shoved so far up their asses he’s surprised it hasn't poked holes through their skulls yet. Plus, there was a period of time where he dated a girl named Myra, and there is almost nobody Richie hates more than Myra. So if Eddie could like her, there was no way Richie could do more than tolerate him.

Eddie is the kind of person everybody seems to fawn over, and it’s for no fucking reason. It’s not like Eddie does anything remarkable. He barely talks, actually. It drives Richie up the wall to have to live with that fact that Eddie is loved for nothing more than visual appeal.

Richie notices after he shoves the whole ‘Eddie thing’ to the side that there’s one other person in the room. He’s a boy who's face looks familiar, but who's name Richie could never place. He’s got curly peanut shell coloured hair, high cheekbones, and sits with a posture that just screams,_ Hey, I’m stuck up!_

Richie has a thought that maybe he should try and be a little less judgmental, but it’s not like anyone in the room is a mindreader. So, who cares? He finds himself feeling slightly guilty though, because it’s not like he’s a terrible person. Not at his core, anyway. 

Richie has to hold in a laugh as he walks into down the aisle of desks, avoiding gazes as he takes a seat behind Eddie’s desk. Nobody is speaking, and it’s actually quite awkward. Or at least it would be, if Richie wasn’t almost pissing himself with how funny this whole situation looked.

All of these people, with the exception of probably Beverley, were clean cut detention virgins.

There are a few painstaking minutes of utter silence that pass by before Richie recognizes the familiar noise of shoes clacking. Mr.Vernon, of course. The principal that usually resides in horror movies, sadly has made a home within the school hallways. Destroying joy wherever it can be found, and sucking the souls out of poor unsuspecting students at Derry High.

“Good morning, students.” He says before he’s even through the door, a small collection of lined paper in hand. “I expect you all brought pencils, no?”

Richie had not brought a pencil. He never does. He stopped packing them when he realized how much their absence made Vernon fume.

The principal sighs as Richie raises both hands in a shrugging motion as if to say _what do you even expect at this point?_ and he grumbles as he fishes a pencil out of his coat pocket, tossing it to Richie who catches it with ease.

“Anyone else?” He frowns, scanning the room. “Good. We’re going to try something a little different today. You're all going to be writing an essay during the eight hours that you're trapped here. The essay will answer the simple question of ‘Who am I?’ Perhaps, this will be a good opportunity for some of you to reflect on yourown lives, and why you're here.” He shoots a pointed look at Richie as he speaks, eyes like lasers.

“How long does it have to be?” The boy Richie doesn’t know says, lips pursed.

“It should be a thousand words.” Vernon says with a sense of pride. A groan falls upon the room. “And no, Richie, you can’t repeat the same word one thousand times.”

“Awe, you know me too well.” Richie says, flashing a grin.

Vernon promptly ignores him, crossing his arms. “You are not to talk. You are also not to move from your seats, so get comfortable.”

As he says that, the boy with golden curls seems to panic and scoot over to the seat to his right. Richie, can’t help but snicker. He also can’t tell if the boy meant to do that as a joke or not. He honestly wouldn’t be all too surprised either way.

“The door will stay open, and I will be in the room down the hall. Any funny business, and you bet your ass I’ll hear about it.” Those are the words Vernon leaves them with, as his shoes clack all the way back out the door and to his office.

Richie rolls his eyes before turning around in his seat to face Beverley. “Hey, you got a smoke I can snag?”

They're the words Beverley used when she’d asked him, and recollection seems to dawn on her face as he speaks.

“Always,” She says, mouth quirked in a grin as she rummages through her purse. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You can’t smoke in here, we’ll get in trouble.” Eddie pipes up, nose scrunched as he turns to face the two behind him.

“Relax, princess. It already smells like cigarettes throughout this whole fucking place anyway.”

“First of all, don't fucking call me that, and you still shouldn’t sm-”

“Please, spare me the lecture.” Richie cuts him off, before facing away and turning to Beverley, who’s holding out the cigarette.

“Thanks doll.”

“Anytime.” She responds, before kicking her feet back up on her desk, putting her headphones back on.

Richie fumbles with a lighter for a few moments, before setting the cigarette on his lips, head tilted towards the ceiling.

There are a few moments of silence, before Bill Denbrough speaks up. “Hey,” He starts, facing towards the mystery boy who quirks his head up from his essay. “I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“No, I don’t believe we have,” He says, setting down his pencil. “Stan Uris, and you?”

“Bill Denbrough.”

Beverley snaps out of her daydream at the name, perking up in her seat. “Wait, Bill you play baseball, right?”

“Gee, what gave it away?” Richie laughs out, and Bill shoots him a glare. But it’s lighthearted, and obviously not meant to be taken seriously.

“Yeah, I do. What about it?” Bill asks, turning around to face her.  
  
Beverley takes off her headphones again, leaning forward on her desk. “Oh, well it’s just I've heard your name before. My boyfriend plays with you. Mike Hanlon? I’m pretty sure the two of you are friends.”

“Oh, You're Mikes girlfriend! Yeah, Mike’s awesome. The arm on that guy is insane. Amazing pitcher.” Bill smiles, face giving away the fact that he’s most likely recalling a memory.

“He is, isn't he?” Beverley agrees. Then, theres another silences that passes the group. It’s not uncomfortable per say, its just a part of the joys of detention. Beverley, is not having it. “Holy shit this is so fucking boring. We should do something.”

Eddie shoots her an unimpressed look. “I’m not getting in anymore trouble.”

“Well don't worry hun,” Richie sneers, “You wont be missed too greatly. What were you thinking, Bev?”

Eddie huffs in response, dropping his chin onto his propped up hand. It’s pretty, Eddie, is pretty. Richie has to force his gaze back to Beverley.

“I’ve got an idea.” Richie says to himself, before standing up and making his way to the library door. Eddie doesn’t say anything, but Richie can already feel the tension in the smaller boys shoulders.

Richie wastes no time putting out his cigarette and fumbling with the door, sneaking out a screw. He grins at his work as the door slams shut, rattling the eardrums of anyone in its general vicinity.

“Richie, what the fuck?” Bill says, not necessarily mad, but more so concerned with Richie’s idiocy level.

Clacking starts back down the hallway, and Richie laughs. “Ladies, and gentlemen, welcome to the shit show.”

Vernon pushes the door open with such intensity that it slams against the wall. Eddie jumps about three feet in his seat.

“What the hell was that?” Vernon says, eyes trained on the group. “Why is that door closed?”

The group says nothing. Eyes down trained on their desks.

“Why is that door closed!” He repeats, fists balled.

“How would we have messed with the door? Were not allowed to move.” Richie says, smiling.

Richie is pretty sure Vernon is about to rip him a new one, but a new voice speaks up before he gets the chance.

“We were just sitting her like we were supposed to, sir.” Eddie says, and Richie tries not to look too shocked. Since when did Eddie care?

“It just closed, sir.” Stan adds, albeit quietly. “I think a screw fell out.”

“Who did it?” Vernon says again, volume high. He’s looking at Beverley this time, who doesn't dignify him with a response. Instead, she tilts her head towards the ceiling, closing her eyes.

“Tozier, give me the screw.” Vernon starts, walking up to his desk.

“I don’t have it, sir.” Richie responds, staring him right in the eye, challenging him.

“I swear to god Tozier I will shake it out of you if I have to.”

“Excuse me, sir.” Eddie pipes up, _again_. “Why would anyone want to steal a screw?”

Richie almost regrets all the mean things he’s said (and thought) about Eddie, because right now he’s being a real fucking life saver.

“You better watch yourself, Kaspbrak. Don’t get mouthy.” The principal sneers, before turning around and beginning to walk to the front of the group again. Richie raises his brows at Eddie, who just sticks out his tongue as a retort.

“Cute.” Richie mouths, and Eddie flushes even before he has the chance to whip himself back to the front of class.

And it’s true. Eddie is cute. Cute as a fucking button. He just hangs out with a crowd Richie loathes. Like, come on, Myra? Eddie could do better than that. Fuck, Eddie could have anyone he’s ever wanted. He could soar through the dating pool. And yet he went with her?

Vernon cuts off his thoughts, as he begins to make an attempt at keeping the door open with a chair. Richie can’t help but laugh.

“Sir, the door is way too heavy.”

Vernon ignores him, and as he removes his hand from the door it flies shut, slamming hard. “DAMMIT!” can be heard from the other side, and everyone in the library snickers. Vernon pulls the it back open almost as soon as it closes, face a little redder than before. knuckles white against handle. “Denbrough, get over here, now.”

Bill looks displeased with the request, but hesitantly gets up anyway. Vernon then instructs him to help move a book stand in front of the door, and before Bill can ever grab it, Richie is talking.

“What if theres a fire?” He questions. “Don’t you think that’s a hazard, sir?”

Vernon contemplates this for a moment, before shooting a disgusted look at Bill, who looks so fucking confused at whats happening, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as Vernon scolds him for “Being so immature” and that he “expected more from a star high school athlete”

In the chaos of it all Richie looks over to Stan, who is covering his grinning face with his fist, cheeks tinged pink.

_Oh_, Richie muses. _well thats interesting._

During Richie’s revelation, Bill managed to make his way back to his desk, and Vernon had somehow managed to board to ‘Hate Richie Tozier Train’ once again.

“You're not fooling anyone, Tozier. The next screw that falls out is gonna be you.”

“Eat my shorts.” Richie mutters, flicking his pencil against the desk.

“What the hell did you just say?” Vernon walks up to him once more.

“Eat. My. Shorts.” Richie enunciates, raising his brows.

“Thats it. You’ve just bought yourself another Saturday.”

“Awe shucks, I’m crushed sir.” Richie mocks hurt.

“Thats another one right there!"

“What ever will I do?”

“Another!”

It continues like this for a few more minutes, and Stan informs the group at some point that Richie is down to seven Saturdays. Vernon, like a prick, changes it to eight.

“For the next two months, you're mine Tozier. And you know what I think? I think this might actually do you some good. Instead of going to prison, you’ll be coming here.”

“I’m thrilled.”

“I bet that’s exactly what you want them to believe, Tozier. But i’ve seen through the facade. You ought to spend a little more time making something of yourself and a little less time trying to impress people.”

Richie opts to shut up. As much as he hates to admit it. Two months is a pretty long fucking time to be in detention for eight hours every Saturday. He’s done enough damage as is for a while. Plus, Vernon didn’t really ago to easy on the insults.

The principal then goes on with some ridiculous speech about being right on the other side of the doors, and not putting up with any more shit before walking out. The group lets out a breath of relief as the door slams behind him.

They all seem a little scared to speak, so they don’t.

The next hour, is boring as shit.

Nobody really does anything. The only interesting is that Bill has moved over to sit with Stan, and the two are talking about Stan’s doodles. Apparently from what Richie’s overheard, he draws birds, and apparently Bill thinks their the most interesting thing in the world. Richie suspects he has other intentions, though.

Beverley is definitely sleeping, and Eddie is staring at a wall, not really doing much of anything.

Richie, as usual, can’t take the lack of chaos. So he sits and listens, and as soon as he hears Vernons footsteps headed down the hallway and out of his office, he stands up from his desk, trekking to the doors.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, confused.

“Uh, i’m bored as shit. Wanna come?”

He’s not sure why he asks, because Eddie has been very adamant about not participating in the groups chaos. So when the smaller boy takes a little too much time pondering, Richie is taken aback.

“Alright.” He decides, perking up a little, determined.

“Cool,” Richie grins, going to ruffle Eddie’s hair, who swats him away immediately. “Hey guys,” Richie starts, turning to everyone else. “Were going to my locker, wanna come?"

The whole group is pretty set on tagging along. And even if it took a little bit of convincing to get Stan to go, as soon as Bill gave him the puppy dog eyes he reluctantly agreed.

The plan was to go to Richie’s locker. He told them it was to ‘pick something up’, but he never specified what that something was.

The walk to his locker was fairly simple, they didn’t run into Vernon once, and that was saying something, because Richie’s locker was on the other side of the school.

“What are we grabbing, anyway?” Stan whispers as Richie fumbles with his lock, before handing it to Beverley. As he opens his locker, he can feel the groups shock.

“Holy shit your lockers like a fucking war zone.” Eddie says, disgust laced in his tone.

“Yeah, well my maid’s out.” Richie snarks, digging through his locker for a brown paper bag. Once he locates it, he reaches an arm in, feeling around until he pulls something out.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Stan purses his lips, exasperated. “We came all this way to raid your pot stash?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely Stan the man.” Richie grins. “Were all gonna light up i-”

a clacking noise makes its way towards their hallway, and panic falls over the group instantly.

“Fuck!” Eddie whisper shouts, before running down the hallway, the rest of the group in tow.

Richie runs fast enough to pass Eddie. He knows the fastest way back to the library. This isn’t his first rodeo, after all. It was actually kind of hard to pass him, Eddie was like fucking lightning as he ran.

Soon Richie realizes they aren't going to right way. He sticks his hands and whips towards the group. “No guys, we have to go through the cafeteria.”

“No, the activities hall.” Bill says, out of breath.  
  
“You don’t know what you're talking about.” Richie says, slightly hysterical,running a hand through his hair.

Bill seems to take a bit of offence to Richie’s wording. “No, you don't know what you're talking about.” He retorts, panic clear. “Follow me, guys.” Bill instructs, turning back around and running towards the activities hall.

Richie lets out a murmured “Fucking hell,” Before following the group, jogging slightly behind Stan.

As suspected, when the group runs up to the activity hall, there is a gate in front of their passage way. Richie rattles it in frustration. “Nice going, Denbrough.”

“Fuck you!” Bill says, but its clear he's not so much mad and more so panicked. Richie doesn't take it to heart.

“Why didn’t you just listen to Richie, Bill!” Eddie says, running a hand down his face.

Beverley lets out a groan. “We don’t have fucking time for this.”

“We’re dead.” Stan frowns.

“No,” Richie sighs, shocked with what he's about to say. “Just me.”

The entire group shoots him uncertain looks, but Richie ignores them.

“What do you mean?” Stan asks, unconvinced.

“Here.” Richie groans, shoving the pot down Stan’s pants, who gives him a horrified look in response. “Get back to the library.” He instructs, before jogging down the hall and away from the group, belting out a song as loud as he can.

“I WANNA BE AN AIRBORNE RANGER” He sings, running his hand across lockers as he zooms by, making a beeline for the gymnasium. He can’t hear Vernon, but he's fucking sure Vernon can hear him. The thought makes him grin wide.

Once he's made it to the gym, he immediately goes into the supply room to find a basketball. He then makes a multitude of shots, sure to narrate the entire thing as loudly as he possibly can.

It’s mere seconds before Vernon storms in, face red.

“Tozier! What the hell is this?” He fumes, power walking up to him. “What are you doing here? What is this?”

“Hi,” Is all Richie dignifies him with, before taking another shot.

“Out! Out! Tozier, its over.”

“But sir, I’m thinking out trying out for a scholarship.” He puts on an accent as he speaks, dribbling the ball once more.

“Give me that ball.” Vernon insists. And Richie makes three mock passes that he flinches at each time. Then, just to be a dick, Richie crouches down and lightly rolls the ball towards him. As soon as it reaches Vernon, he kicks it hard in Richie direction. The ball doesn't make contact, but it whooshes towards him fast and Richie has to jump to avoid it hitting his shins. Vernon then points harshly towards the door, and Richie complies, trudging out, but not before grabbing his bag.

As he walks back into the library, Vernon is following close behind. He pushes Richie, snapping out a “Get your stuff, Tozier.” Before turning to address the group. “It seems as though Mr.Tozier has taken it upon himself to go to the gymnasium. So Tozier is going to have to spend the rest of detention without your company.”

“How will I ever survive.” Richie frowns, putting fists below his eyes and mock crying.

“Everything’s just one big joke, eh Tozier? I bet you thought that fire you started in the music room was really funny, am I right?”  
  
“I already told you, that was an accident.” Richie says, pulling at his curls.

“I don’t want to hear it, Tozier. You think you're funny? Do you guys think he’s funny?” Vernon sneers. “Let me tell you guys something. Look at him.” He points towards Richie, and the group hesitantly turns towards him. “You wanna see something real funny? You go visit Richie Tozier in five years. I’d bet my lifesavings he ends up just like his father.”

Richie’s eyes go dark at that, and if he wasn’t all ready in a bunch of shit, he probably would've fucking gauged Vernon’s eyes out. The rest of the group is silent, but Eddie keeps turning around and shooting him worried glances.

Vernon makes his way to Richie’s desk, and crouches down right beside him. “What’s the matter, Tozier? You gonna cry?”

Richie rolls his eyes at that, sinking further down in his seat.

“Let’s go,” Vernon says, grabbing a firm hold on Richie’s arm.

Richie shoots up at that, yanking his arm away hard. “Keep your fucking hands off me!” He grabs his coat and bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “I expected better manners from you, Dick” He attempts at the joke, but it’s not funny and ultimately falls flat. He’d argue that the tension is ever worse than before.

Richie begins to storm out, but not before knocking almost everything off the front desk in a fit. The principal is following close behind, and suddenly any semblance of fun Richie was finding in this is gone.

Once they make it to their destination, a supply room, Richie seats himself on the floor, and Vernon towers over him.

“This is the last time you humiliate me in front of those kids, Tozier. The last time. I make thirty-one thousand dollars a year, I've got a home, and i’m not about to throw it all away on some punk like you.”

Richie assumes the speech is over. It’s not like he’s listening much anyway. He couldn't care less about what his high school principal thinks of him. But turns out Vernon isn't done yet. Because, hey! when is he ever?

“But someday, someday when you're outta this place, when you've forgotten all about me, and you're turning out to be a pathetic alcoholic just like mommy dearest, I’m gonna be there, and i’m gonna kick the living shit out of you.”

Richie’s eyes widen in shock. That was not what he was fucking expecting. “Are you- are you seriously threatening me?” Richie’s voice cracks as he speaks, and the slight fear must be etched in his voice because Vernon’s confidence does nothing but spike.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Vernon seems proud when he talks, accomplished. “You think anyones gonna believe you? You're a high school drop out waiting to happen. But me? I’m a man of respect around here, people love me. You? your a waste of space and people fucking know it.”

Vernon must have decided his speech left enough of an impact, because with those words he walks out, slamming the door behind him. Richie’s heart is in his feet, and its racing so fast he can feel it pound loud and clear in his ears. Theres a click of a lock that Richie can hear, and any hope of escaping this hell hole dissipates with the noise.

Well, not really. Because ten minutes later Richie finds himself in the ceiling.

It’s not that Richie looks for trouble wherever he goes. Trouble just tends to follow him. And thecomparisons to his parents have never really helped. He’s not climbing around in the ceiling to piss Vernon off, he kind of just really wants to see Eddie and everyone else again. (Mainly Eddie, though. He tries not to think to deeply about why. But its not hard to tell.) Sitting in that fucking room alone was a drag, and Richie was losing his mind. Plus, Stan still had his pot.

He manages to crawl around for about to minutes, speaking to himself before something goes wrong. Because when does something not go wrong? The thin ceiling panel under him cracks, and with that Richie is falling hard on the floor.

“SHIT!” he screams, as his back his the ground hard, knocking the air out of him.

A clacking of shoes immediately follows, and Richie walks down the stairs into the library. The group stares at him with open mouths.

“Forgot my pencil.” Richie jokes, before sneaking under the desk, Vernon's voice booming through the halls.

“Goddamn it!” Vernon says as he makes it into the library. “What was that ruckus?” 

“What ruckus?” Bill asks.

“I was just in my office and I heard a ruckus!” He explains, eyebrows pinched.

Stan speaks up next. “Could you describe the ruckus, sir?”

That, was probably not the right thing to say. Richie has to stifle a laugh as he imagines Vernon’s fuming face.

“You better watch your tongue Uris, watch it.”

Richie in the heat of it all forgets he’s under a desk, so when he sits up, his head clunks against it unceremoniously. “Fuck,” He mutters, holding his head.

From above him, he cant feel the rest of the group banging their fists against the tables to cover his slip up.

“What is that? What is that noise?” Vernon says.

The group, stays silent.

“Look,” He starts, face dark. “I may not have caught you in the act this time, but you can bet I will. I will not be made a fool of.” He says, before storming out once more.

The group stays quiet for a moment, but it doesn't take long for them to burst out in a fit of laughter.

Richie pops out from under the desk, smiling before making his way up to Stan. “So, can I get my pot back?”

Stan looks unimpressed as he pulls the bag out of his khakis, mouth pressed into a fine line as he hands it back to Richie.

“Dude, you can’t blaze up in here.” Bill says, nervous.

Richie ignores him, walking down to the back of the library. A soon as he starts walking, he can tell Beverley is following, he slows to walk with her.

“You’re something else, Rich.” She grins, shaking her head in slight disbelief.

“It’s part of my character.” Richie explains.

“I can see that.” She nods, hands in her pockets. “One day though, you're gonna get into trouble you just can’t find your way out of. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Dont worry, Bev.” Richie laughs, patting her shoulder. “I can handle him.”

“I know you can. But he seems to really hate you. I just don’t want you to have a harder time than you have to.”

“Well,” He huffs out, amused. “It’s a little late for that, Miss Marsh.”

Beverley just sighs in response, going to take a seat on one of the cushioned library chairs. Richie reciprocates the action, sitting on the one in front of her.

As Richie makes a joint in peaceful silence, he’s shocked to see Eddie walking up to the pair.’

“Hey,” He says, almost bashful. “Can I join?”

“Course’ Eds.” Richie grins, all to Eddie’s annoyance.

“That is not my name.”

“Sorry, Edward.”

“Ew,” He scrunches his nose. “Don’t call me that."

“Cute,” Richie coos, motioning for Beverley to hand him her lighter.

“Shut up,” He laughs, cheeks pink. He takes a seat to Richie’s left, legs crossed in his chair.

Once the joint is lit, its passed among the group, and it only takes mere minutes for Stan and Bill to join. They both sit on the floor beside each other. Stan works on his essay as he takes a drag. He’s put a pair of sunglasses on, and it makes Richie grin.

“Why are you even doing that essay, Stan?” Beverley says, looking down at him. Stan has repositioned himself onto his stomach, feet in the air.

“I don’t know.” He says, tapping his pencil against paper. “I don't want to get in trouble, I guess. Not to be rude, but I'm not trying to spend another one of my Saturdays like this.”

“Makes sense.” Beverley nods, stealing the joint from his fingers.

Richie watches the discussion, but keeps getting distracted. Him and Eddie keep shooting each other glances that are just a little too long, and he wants to blame it on the pot.

“Do you know how popular I am.” Eddie starts, pupils blown out. “I am so popular, everybody loves me at this school” He laughs, running a hand through his hair.

Usually that comment would have made Richie roll his eyes and call Eddie a snob. But the way Eddie says it is so giddy and cute that Richie just laughs along.

Twenty minutes later, and everyone's fucking _stoned_. Bill is talking to Stan about his middle name, and Stan is laughing his ass off for no reason other than the buzz. They all have each others purses bags or wallets, and are asking questions about the things they find.

“This is the worst fake I.D I've ever seen.” Bill muses, toying with Stan’s card. “You realize you made yourself sixty-eight?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan drawls, stealing it back. “I know, I fucked it up bad.”

The group continues to laugh and talk, until they end up in a circle on the floor, chatting about their first impressions.

“I fucking hated you,” Richie laughs, pointing at Eddie.

Eddie, doesn’t even look offended, he just laughs along. “It’s okay, I hated you too.”  
  
“Why?” Richie asks, passing his joint to Stan.

“Because, you do what you want. I could never be like that. You just don’t give a shit. And sure, it gets you into trouble. But at least you’re, I don’t know- doing something with yourself. Thats more than I can say. I guess I was jealous. Plus, you're kind of an ass a lot of the time.”  
  
“Eddie, you said it yourself.” Richie raises a brow. “Everyone loves you. Also, I guess I can accept the insult. It’s not too far off. But I prefer the term ‘annoyingly endearing’. It suits me more”

“Well then I guess the things I said aren't all that true.” Eddie frowns, ignoring Richie’s joke. “I think they like the person they think I could be. I don’t know, everyone seems to think they can fix me.”

“But theres nothing wrong with you?” Beverley questions.

“Theres something wrong with everyone.” He grimaces, before turning to Richie, obviously uncomfortable with the spotlight. “Well, don’t leave me on the edge of my seat. Why’d you hate me?”

Richie scoffs. “Because you’re like a prima donna, Eddie. Or at least I thought you were. Plus, your friends are literally gutter trash, and thats coming from a guy nicknamed Trashmouth.”  
  
“They aren't that bad.” Eddie mutters, sounding like he doesn't even believe himself.

“Eddie,” Stan cuts in. “Your ex once poured her protein shake in my schoolbag. She ruined all the notes I had taken that year.”

Eddie frowns. “I’m sorry about that, Stan.”

“Why did you even date her?” Richie asks, crossing his arms. “Surely you must have realized she's the epitome of the word bitch. You aren't an idiot.”

“My mom made me.” Eddie says, and the group falls silent.

Richie definitely wasn't expecting that answer, and it makes the words he had planned dissipate to nothing.

“I hated Myra.” Eddie eyebrows pinch. “I fucking _hated_ dating her. But I had to. My mom had something over my head and I couldn’t let it get out. It was date her or be ostracized for the rest of my life.”

“What’d she know?” Richie murmurs, a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He’s not sure why he put it there in the first place, but it feels nice so he doesn't take it off.

Eddie scans the group for a moment, silently judging everyones intentions before making the decision to speak.

“She caught me making out with some guy in my room.” He mumbles, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “She said Myra’d be good for me. Her parents are friends with my mom, so they said it’d work out nicely.”

“Oh,” Richie says, suddenly feeling guilt wash over him like a downpour. “I’m really sorry, Eddie. I shouldn't have-”

“It’s fine.” Eddie cuts him off. “You had no way of knowing. And Myra was a bitch, so I get it.”

“I’m still sorry, though.” Richie presses.

“Well, thank you then. But It’s okay, I forgive you.” 

Richie accepts that for closure, and pats Eddie on the shoulder before letting go, dropping his hand. he doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s face falls in the slightest way. He’s tempted to put his hand back.

“So,” Bill starts, trying to ease the seriousness in the room. “Why are you guys in detention?”

“I punched Betty Ripsom.” Beverley says, proud. The group bursts into a fit of giggles once more, the smell of pot strong.

“Why?” Stan asks, looking up from his once again blank paper.

“She pray painted the word ‘WHORE’ on my locker, so I socked her so hard her front tooth came out.”

“Holy shit!” Richie hollers, laughing. “Beverley Marsh is a fucking powerhouse.”

“Yeah, well. I was pretty mad. Y’know? None of those rumours are true, and nobody seems to fucking believe me.”

“We believe you, Bev.” Bill says, smiling.

“Thanks.” She whispers, eyes glimmering a bit.

“I told my coach to go fuck himself.” Bill says next. “He told me he’d heard news of my ‘gay lifestyle’ and said no colleges would give scholarships to a fairy.”

“Shit, Bill.” Bev says, frowning. “That’s awful.”

Bill shrugs. “It’s okay, I don’t feel wrong for what I do. So I don’t care.”

“Well then good for you.” Eddie smiles.

“Thanks.”

Richie goes next. “I set a drum on fire in the music room.”

The group can’t even laugh their so confused.

“How the-”

“Richie how does one even…?”

“What the fuck, Richard.”

“Yeah yeah,” Richie laughs. “I was fucking around with my lighter and I guess I was a little out of it and the drum just caught fire. I felt really bad. The music funds at this school are already so low as it is. I’ve been working to pay off the drum.”

“Well good on you for caring, Rich. Most people wouldn’t.” Eddie says, and the praise feels genuine.

“Thank you.” He gives a small smile, before raising his brows. “So, what’d you do?”

“I skipped like a week of school.” Eddie says. “Ran away from home. Things got a little too much so I went to stay in my friend Ben Hanscom’s basement.”

“Ben’s a good guy.” Stan says, nodding. “ I met him in my physics class.”

“Yeah, he’s got a good heart.” Eddie nods. “And you, Stan? What’d you do?”

“Told my psychology teacher he was a fucking idiot.” Stan hums, not sounding all too disappointed in himself.

“Didn’t peg you for the type.” Bill grins.

“Yeah, well. He’s one of those teachers who says you’ll never get one hundred percent in his class, because of some psychological shit. And I told him he was a fucking idiot for believing that was a good way to run a classroom.”

“Wowzers, Stan.” Richie laughs. “Definitely wasn’t expecting that one.”

“Yeah well, I could run that class better than him.”  
  
“I bet you could.” Bill smiles. Stan gives a short grin in response, ears crimson.

Twenty more minutes pass. the joints are gone, and they're all seated on a railing, wasting their time away.

“Stan,” Eddie asks. “Are you still planning on writing your essay?”

“Um, yeah, probably. Why?”

“Well, I was thinking you could do one essay for all of us. It’s kind of a waste for all of us to do one. He doesn’t care about what we have to think. And I think its fair to say you're the most articulate out of all of us, so you should do the honours.”

“Okay,” Stan agrees.

After that, Richie finds himself once again in that storage room, sitting in the same place he had been before. It’s all more boring than sad, so when the doorknob turns, he feels a sense of excitement.

It’s surprisingly not Mr.Vernon. It’s Eddie.

“You lost?” Richie says, grinning from ear to ear.

Eddie, is smiling too. And as he walks in he leans back against the now closed door.

Richie, stares. Stares because he’s not sure exactly what the fuck is supposed to happen next.

Eddie is obviously a little fed up. Because after seconds of no movement he lets out a huff and walks up to Richie, squishing his face between his hands and kissing him.

The kiss isn’t long, not at all. But its sweet and makes Richie’s heart swell.

As Eddie pulls away, its hard to keep a look of shock off his face. “Why’d you do that?” Richie asks. And it’s obvious he isn't complaining.

“Cause I knew you wouldn’t.” He rolls his eyes halfheartedly, eyes seeping with fondness.

They stand like that for a few more moments. Smiling like idiots as the ticking of the clock goes by. When Richie sneaks a look, he realizes their five minutes to freedom, and sneaks Eddie’s hand in his, pulling him out onto the hallway.

When they make it there, the rest of the group is already there as well, coats on, and bags in hand.

“Did you write the essay?” Eddie asks Stan, who's conversing with Bill.

“Yeah, something like that.” Stan grins, and Eddie doesn’t even bother questioning it.

As they walk outside, Richie spots Bill kiss Stan before he gets in his car, hands in his stupid letterman jacket pockets.

Beverley hops on her bike, waving to them all as she peddles off fast.

Eddie’s car is there as well, and Richie can see what he presumes to be Eddie’s mother in the front seat.

“Good luck with that,” Richie grins, pointing towards his mother.

“I’ve got it under control.” Eddie smiles. Then, instead of moving, he contemplates something. He turns back to stare at his mother for a moment, before pressing onto his toes and kissing Richie on the cheek.

“Bye, Trashmouth!” Eddie yells, running towards his car with the new adrenaline rush.

Richie, simply waves in response, too awestruck to say a word.

He watches Eddie’s car leave, and longs for the day to have lasted a lifetime.

_Dear Mr.Vernon,_

_We accept that we had to spend a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us. In the simplest terms, with the most convenient definitions. but what we found out, is that each of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question?_

_Sincerely yours, The Losers Club._


End file.
